


where we come alive

by Enochianess



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bipolar Disorder, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Coffee Shops, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nipple Play, Phone Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Smoking, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 07:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enochianess/pseuds/Enochianess
Summary: Steve likes his job. He really does. Except for his asshole of a coworker that isAnother coffee shop AU with sad boys and fluffy happy endings





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so this is a complete re-write of my multi-chaptered fic [Cigarettes After Sex](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7202570/chapters/16344173). Basically, my grammar has improved drastically, I write slightly differently now, and I have never been able to finish the original fic because so much time has passed and the story just didn't feel fully fleshed out.
> 
> I'm hoping that by re-writing it, I will fall in love with the story again and finally finish it!

"Nat, _please. _I've got the headache from hell. Literally... the... headache... from... hell. Lucifer had fun mixing this one up. He mixed it up something special just for lil ol' me. So, _please."_

"Ah-ah! No," Natasha replies flatly. "Next time, you shouldn't drink so much, James. I've told you you've got to stop doing that; a hangover isn't an excuse to miss a day of work."

"Come on, Nat. I ain't ever missed a day before."

Natasha laughs. "No, but you've spent enough shifts doing absolutely zilch. You may as well have not been here."

James glowers at her, but Steve notices the lack of real heat behind it. James clearly cares a lot more for Natasha than he does for Steve. Weirdly, Natasha -- the girl that intimidates almost everyone and seems to be made of pure steel -- actually has a soft spot for the guy. It's a complete mind fuck and, if he's honest, Steve is kind of jealous. He has no idea what Natasha sees in James. The guy is a complete jerk.

"Look, James. I'm sorry you feel bad, I really am, but we've got the morning rush waiting for us outside and Steve and I can't handle that alone. It's too late for me to call in anyone else, so you're all we've got. Now, buckle up, throw some water over your face and take an Advil. I'm going to open that door in five minutes."

James grunts and walks towards the back of the coffee shop where the bathroom is.

"Oh, and James -- try to look alive when you come back. No on needs to see a live enactment of the Corpse Bride first thing in the morning."

"You okay, Nat?" Steve asks once James is gone. He turns off the dishwasher and begins stacking the mugs beside the coffee maker. Most of the customers won't be staying in the shop, but there is always the odd person who has the time to sit inside and enjoy the jazz music that plays quietly and the atmosphere of a small, Brooklyn coffee shop.

"Yeah, of course. James will pull through. Trust me, he'll do it even if it kills him."

Steve's brow furrows. James has never exactly shown any kind of work ethic. All the guy ever does is the bare minimum. He puts no effort into being kind or polite to his customers, sometimes not even bothering with a simple "hello," or, "have a nice day."

"You ready, boys?" Natasha asks as she moves towards the door, keys jingling in her hand.

"Always," Steve says.

He glances behind him to see James walking over, his hands behind his head as he pulls his too-long hair up into a loose bun.

"James?"

"Huh?"

"Are you ready?"

"No, but we've gotta do it anyway, so you might as well get on with it."

Steve rolls his eyes. _Seriously? _Steve's feeling tired as hell after three consecutive nights of barely any sleep. His insomnia has been terrible recently and yet he's still managing to smile and be polite when the moment requires it. What the hell is James' problem?

"Right, let's get going then boys."

"So, what's you got so worked up about this guy? He can't be _that _bad," Sam says.

The bar is dark and loud and everything Steve needs right now. The beer is mediocre, but Steve isn't drinking for taste tonight; Steve just wants to forget for a little while. It's nice having Sam's company. They don't see much of each other these days -- not since Sam was given a job at Stark Industries. He is the project manager of a campaign Stark has begun for returning veterans. Steve's proud of him; he's making a lot more out of his life than Steve. Sam is on track, whilst Steve is stuck in a rut. He can't move forward, can't move back. He thinks maybe that is his real problem -- he's still waiting for everything to return to the way things were.

Three years ago, Steve had been studying art at NYU. He had friends, went to parties, and had fun. Then, his mother started getting sick -- really sick -- and then they found out that she had a brain tumour. He couldn't afford to pay his tuition and all the medical bills. So, Steve dropped out, got a job at Natasha's coffee house in Brooklyn Heights, and spent every other waking moment caring for his mother. In the beginning, the results of the chemotherapy and radiation were promising, but after about a year she rapidly took a turn for the worst. Within three weeks, she was gone.

Steve didn't take it well. Not at all. Natasha was good to him though and kept his job open during those weeks when he couldn't get out of bed, let alone go to work. Any dreams he'd had, any ideas about the future or going back to college, seemed to completely evaporate into thin air. He moved into a smaller apartment where the rent was much lower and continued to work at the coffee shop with Nat.

Now, at the age of twenty-four, Steve's life is exactly the same. He gets up, goes for a run, showers, makes his way to work for the 7AM start, spends his lunch break in the back of the shop, works until 5PM, then goes home and watches whatever trash is on the television. He doesn't cook for himself, doesn't care enough to bother, so he lives on takeout and cheap sandwiches from the store on the corner.

"He's got some kind of god complex or something, I don't know," Steve says. "There's just something about him that gets under my skin. You know when you meet someone and something just doesn't sit right? Like you can feel it in your gut?"

Steve knows he's probably being childish and that maybe if he got to know the guy properly then he'd see another side to him. Natasha has always been a great judge of character, hooking him up with girls on numerous occasions -- of course, none of those relationships were successful, not with Steve's tendency to fall off the face of the earth every time he finds himself in a negative headspace. Steve can proudly say that as time has passed, his depressive episodes have become less and less frequent -- slowly but surely, he is beginning to come to terms with his mother's death. At least, as much as anyone can ever come to terms with the death of a parent. He wonders if maybe it had been the timing of James entering his life that has contributed to this animosity he seems to have no control over feeling. It was Steve's first day back at work and James had been lounging against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hand. He had sunken eyes and a greyish face to rival his own, and the unhealthy look of him reminded him fiercely of his mother. James was big and bulky, his chest broad and his biceps bulging beneath his dark red henley -- a total opposite to the thin frame Steve's mother had in the end. When Steve had greeted him, he had barely grunted in reply and then he had walked into the back without a word.

"Yeah, man. I know someone like that. That someone being my boss. He's a fucking nightmare," Sam sighs.

"Nat obviously doesn't see it," Steve says, continuing his rant. "She's always rubbing at his shoulder and smiling at him. She never seems to get pissed off with him, no matter what mood he's in."

"Are they a thing?" Sam asks.

Steve smirks, but he doesn't have it in him tonight to tease. He knows Sam has a thing for Natasha, knows it because Sam stares at her the entire time he joins Steve for a coffee at the end of the day. "Nah, I don't think so. I'm not sure Nat's in for that kinda thing, y'know? I've never seen her with anyone and she doesn't talk about relationships at all, apart from my lack thereof."

"Maybe she's just private. Not everyone is as open about these things as you, Steve."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Look, I'm just saying that I don't think she's into that. Y'know, just in case you knew someone who was interested."

"Yeah, man. I get it," Sam grumbles.

"Hey, I might be wrong. I just don't want anyone getting hurt."

"I know, pal."

Steve swirls around on his stall to watch the people dancing -- most of them just grinding -- to Beyonce's _Drunk in Love _and lets out a heavy sigh.

"Dude, you need to get laid."

"I told you, Sam. I don't wanna-"

"Yeah, I know, I know. You don't wanna sleep with anyone who doesn't mean anything."

"It's just better that way. Besides, I'm hardly gonna pick anyone up here."

"Why not?"

"I can't dance."

"They ain't dancing, Steve. They're having sex with their clothes on."

"On a dance floor. Even worse."

"Y'know, I knew this one chick..."

Steve's mind drifts. He thinks about James and what a complete asshole he is. He thinks about how disgusted he'd been about the way he'd gone to work hungover, and then curses himself because he knows he's going to be hungover himself tomorrow and that makes him a complete and utter hypocrite. He thinks about the errands he needs to run at the weekend: a trip to the laundromat, grocery shopping because his milk has begun to curdle and he only has cereal and protein bars left. He thinks about the fact he hasn't had a relationship in over six months and has had to make do with his own hand to get off every night. He thinks and thinks and thinks until Sam's voice slowly breaks through the haze.

"Steve? You okay, man?"

"Sorry. I just space out, I guess."

"Come on. Let's get you out of here. I think you've had more than enough." 

Steve was right. He has a killer hangover -- one that is one hundred percent worse than anything James could have had yesterday. He walks to work, the cold, brittle air doing wonders for his headache. He finds James smoking outside, the collar of his peacoat turned up and his long hair hanging over his face. His complexion is pale, as if he's been cooped up inside for too long, and beneath his eyes are shadows so dark it almost looks like bruising.

"You look like shit," James mutters when Steve goes to open the door to the coffee shop.

Steve pauses and takes a deep breath. He doesn't need this this morning. "You ain't looking so good yourself, Corpse Bride."

James takes another drag from his cigarette and releases the smoke with a look akin to bliss on his face. "Didn't get a lot of sleep, huh?"

"Not exactly."

"Man, I know how that feels."

Steve looks at him, feeling a little shocked. James never really speaks to him. Never agrees with him on anything, let alone engaging him in conversation. He just never makes an effort, period. 

Then, James grunts and throws the cigarette to the floor, stubbing it out with the toe of his workers' boots and says, "It's cold as shit out here. Hurry up so I can get inside, would ya?"

Steve rolls his eyes and mutters unintelligibly under his breath.

"What was that, princess?" James says behind him.

"Nothing."

"I've got your coffees ready for you, boys," Natasha says, a smile on her face as they walk into the shop.

"Thanks, darlin'," Bucky says, sidling up to her and giving her a loud kiss on the forehead.

Natasha punches his arm and glares at him. "Call me that again and I swear I'll kick your ass, James."

"Steve here is a little hungover today, so go a little easy on him would ya?"

Natasha turns to him, hands on her hips, and looks at him with a disappointed look on her face. "Seriously, Steve? First this idiot and now you too? What the hell has gotten into you?"

_(Asshole!)_

"Sorry, Nat. Rough night."

"And I understand that, Steve. Maybe wait until you've got a day off the next day, huh?"

"Sorry, Ma'am."

"Right," she says, clapping her hands together loudly. "You've got half an hour to drink your coffees and get everything ready. I don't want anything half assed this morning. Okay? _James?"_

James, as always, merely grunts. Steve rubs at his temples and takes a deep breath. He knows it's going to be one hell of a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

It's 3AM and Steve... cannot... sleep. He thinks he might go insane -- tossing and turning, tossing and turning. His back aches and his arms ache from moving and now his bed feels like the lumpiest, most uncomfortable bed in the world. He sits up with a groan and picks up his glasses from his bedside table. He's tempted to put the television on and watch some shitty home shopping channel, but his eyes sting like hell and he's not sure he can concentrate on the screen without crying. Instead, he gets up, pulls on a shirt and an old hoodie, and slips into his sneakers. He pushes at the legs of his sweatpants because they've moved up his calves since getting into bed. He grabs his wallet and keys from the small table in the hallway and leaves the apartment, sighing with relief when he gets downstairs and out into the open air. It's cold in New York City at the moment, but on nights like these, when he's feeling anxious and irritable, he relishes in the chilly breeze.

The streets are empty except for the homeless. He offers change to a man holding a sign saying, 'Cold and hungry. Please help.' The man is old and frail, his face grimy and his hair thinning. He has a small terrier laying beside him and Steve is pretty sure it's not going to last more than a few weeks; its bones are protruding and its fur is falling out. Steve keeps walking, a solemn expression on his face, until he reaches the small twenty-four-hour diner that's located a few blocks over from his apartment. He feels incredibly alone as he sits down in one of the booths, picking up the menu even though he's not hungry. He stares at it blankly, his eyes taking in the words, but his brain completely unable to string them together into something that makes sense.

"Would you like something to drink, sir?" a young waitress asks.

Steve looks up and notices absently that she's very young and very pretty. She's small with a slim build and long brown hair. She has a big smile on her face and Steve wonders how anyone can be so happy. He doesn't even remember the last time he was truly happy.

(Isn't that just the most depressing thought?)

"Just a coffee, please," Steve says.

He slides the menu to the other side of the table once she leaves and rubs his hands over his face. He doesn't understand how he's become this person -- this sad, shell of a thing. He knows his mother would be disappointed, would yell at him to get it together and pull himself out of this slump he's been in for far too long. It's just so goddamn hard. He's all alone. He has no one outside of Sam and Natasha. He wants to cry so badly, but he's overtired and the tears just won't come.

Steve looks around the diner unseeingly, but then his eyes catch on a man with shoulder-length brown hair and he sits up more in his seat. It's James -- of course it is. Rather than the laid back, cocky manner he usually carries himself with, the guy is sat with his shoulders slumped and his head hanging down. He looks timid, as if he's being scorned, and that's when Steve notices the other man sat opposite James, his arms flying around dramatically. Steve frowns and watches as James keeps nodding in response to whatever is being said to him. It seems so out of character that it actually worries him, and if that doesn't say something... Steve has a bad feeling about the whole thing, a churning in his gut telling him that something is wrong here. He gets up, forgetting the coffee that is yet to show up, and makes his way over to the booth the two men are sat in.

"James!" Steve exclaims with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. "Fancy seeing you here."

James' head turns sharply and his eyes go wide. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly and Steve realises from the panic on James' face that he may have just screwed up.

"Who's this guy?" the other man says loudly, aggressive almost. He's big; his muscles rival James' own, and he's tall from what Steve can tell. He has a few wrinkles on his face and Steve can tell he's at least a few years older than James and himself. His eyes are narrowed at Steve and Steve feels his throat bob with a small gulp. He can feel the anger pulsing in the air and Steve really begins to wonder what he's just walked in on. Something about the guy just screams danger and Steve can't help but want to grab James and get the hell out of there.

James blinks quickly, wringing his hands in his lap nervously. "H-he works with me. Coworker."

"Ah, I see. Pals, are we?"

"No, Brock."

"It's true," Steve intervenes. "I just wasn't expecting to see him is all. I thought I'd say hello, but I can see you're busy. I'll leave you two alone."

Steve walks back to his table and thinks about James. He tries to connect the man he's just seen with the man he works with, but finds it almost impossible. He's never seen the guy look so small, so vulnerable. He hates himself for what he's just done. Both the fact he walked over there in the first place, and then that he left the two of them alone. He really hopes James will be safe with the guy, but something tells Steve that he'll be lucky if that's the case. Steve wonders how they know each other, whether James owes him something or is in a relationship with him. Nothing about James suggests he's interested in men, but Steve learnt long ago that sometimes people can be very surprising.

Steve doesn't sleep at all that night. He gets home at 4:30PM and then gets changed and goes for a run. He pushes himself harder than normal, trying to drive away the unpleasant thoughts that won't leave his head. He wonders how he's going to make it through a full day of work with the exhaustion he can feel in every sinew and bone in his body. Idiotically, just to punish himself further, he does two-hundred crunches and four sets of push-ups of ten reps. The pain he feels zapping through his body on the way to work helps to keep him awake, but Steve knows in about an hour he's just going to be further exhausted. He debates with himself whether or not he should confront James. On the one hand, it could give James an outlet for whatever issues he's dealing with, but on the other hand, it could blow up in his face and make James even more angry with him than he usually seems to be. He decides the latter is probably the more likely result. James and him aren't exactly on good terms.

"So, glasses, huh?" James mutters. He's leaning against the wall with a cigarette in between his fingers again, one foot propped up against the wall. He looks annoyingly cool and Steve wonders if he does it on purpose -- the whole ruggedly handsome model thing. He looks like he just rolled out of bed and shucked some clothes on and Steve bets that is exactly what he did. Steve can never do that. His hair is always sticking up in all directions and tends to be annoyingly fluffy. Today, he was too tired to put in his contacts. So, glasses.

Steve pauses with the coffee shop door open half way and turns to look at him. "Yep. Problem?"

James' eyebrows shoot up. "Hey, pal. I was just making small talk."

"You don't make small talk."

"Says who?"

"Me. I do. I've known you for three years and you've never once wanted to make idle chit-chat."

James shrugs. "Maybe that's because when I do the guy usually turns out to be a complete jerk."

And... he's got a point. Steve _is _being a complete jerk. Childish too. He's just so goddamn tired.

"Look, about last night-"

"I don't wanna talk about it," James snaps, his eyes narrowing. His face is filled with such a hateful expression that Steve takes a small step backwards.

"Okay. I just wanted to check you're okay."

"I'm fine. See?" James says, stepping away from the wall and spreading his arms out wide, so Steve can inspect him.

"I'll see you inside," Steve says curtly.

Steve can't stop staring. He's seen James' tattoo before, the sleeve of intricate metal-looking plates with a red star on his shoulder, but he thinks it will never cease to amaze him. As an artist, it makes his fingers twitch with the need to draw it, to study it from every angle and take it in for the masterpiece that it is. Of course, he's never said as much to James. He'd complimented him on it the first time he'd seen it, but James had just grunted in reply, as per usual. Today, James is wearing a tight white t-shirt and Steve cannot... stop... staring. Steve hates it because he's always had a weakness for tattoos, and on a man like James, who admittedly is very attractive, it drives Steve a little crazy. In fact, if James wasn't, well, _James, _Steve thinks he'd be totally into him. It had been a disappointment when he'd realised how much of a jerk he is. Although, today James is strangely silent and Steve wonders if it was something to do with last night. He's noticed Natasha looking at him worriedly, rubbing his back every now and then, and cupping his cheek in the moments where James seems particularly out of it.

"What's wrong with him?" Steve whispers to Natasha when James walks outside for a smoke on his break.

Natasha shakes her head. "That's not for me to tell. He just gets like this sometimes -- real reserved and quiet. Don't worry about it, he'll be fine tomorrow."

"I am worried though," Steve says.

"Mhm, I can see that." Natasha smirks. 

"It's just weird to see him actually working. It's like he's on autopilot or something."

"People always concentrate on their work more when they're... unhappy. It's a distraction. You should know that, Steve."

"Nothing has... happened, has it?"

Natasha shakes her head again. "I don't know. He doesn't like to talk about anything personal. I've known him since we were in high school and I still have to really fight to get anything out of him."

"High school?"

"Yeah. I thought I already told you that."

"You didn't."

"Customer, Steve," she says, nodding towards the door.

"I'm on it."

James follows behind the old woman and Steve is shocked to see his eyes red-rimmed and his eyelashes clumped together. Steve opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky shuts him down with a sharp, "Don't."

Steve nods, a weight dropping in his stomach. He wishes he knew what was going on, but it's pretty obvious that he won't be finding out any time soon. He sighs heavily and turns back to the customer, a wide, forced smile on his face.

"How can I help you today, ma'am?"

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://enochianess.tumblr.com) and [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCASBQ68lbb2CWPhhZuRmC_A)
> 
> If you liked it, please leave kudos or comments!


End file.
